


Drought Conditions

by honeymink



Category: The Borgias
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeymink/pseuds/honeymink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After this, therefore because of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drought Conditions

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "And It's Surely To Their Credit".

As morning dawned, Cesare saw that Lucrezia was still asleep, her face gently pressed against his chest. The slanting light glistened through the louvered shutters of his Vatican room, promising another sweltering August day. By cover of night his rage, his despair had been soothed by her forgiveness, her caress, pulling him into the ardent heat of her lap, something easily seen as madness now. Guilt and pleasance burdened and lightened his mind alike.

Her world should have been filled with innocent happiness but he couldn’t protect her from their father’s schemes. When Lucrezia left San Sisto, the boy had been placed with a wet nurse in a boarding house for children of equally delicate parentage. At the beginning, protected by darkness, Cesare had accompanied her to see the child every Friday night. But soon the visits had grown less frequent until Lucrezia, in tears, admitted that they saddened her. Back in the carriage, she hid in the folds of his robe and Cesare held her in silence all the way home. They never went again.

Then slowly, so slowly Rome’s manifold distractions of receptions, arts and gossip seemed to give Cesare what he longed for most: to have his curious, sprightly and carefree young sister back. And for a moment there, he had been relieved. That was until last night.

Waking from her peaceful slumber, Lucrezia stirred lightly and craned her neck a bit as she opened her eyes. Looking at him, a smile spread across her face.

He placed a light kiss on her forehead. “Did you sleep well, my love?”

“I had the sweetest dreams,” she sighed and snuggled closer to him.

Torn between an overwhelming feeling of love for her and self-reproach for dragging her down into their family’s abyss of corruption and sin, he felt a painful closeness in his chest.

“We ought to be careful, sis!” he said, tenderly stroking her cheek.

He felt her body tensing. “Are you ashamed of what we did, Cesare?”

It was a valid question indeed and she looked frightened. He knew that they were defying their father, ecclesiastic ideas of propriety and maybe even God. With this realization, he found, decorum would ask for an iota of remorse but he couldn’t bring himself to feel it.

“For loving you? Never!” he answered truthfully.

She finally relaxed, “I’m glad, brother, for I thought it so magnificent.” When she looked back up into his eyes, she bit her lower lip as if in deep thought. Finally she spoke with a very serious tone of voice: “I heard the Lord of Perugia receives ambassadors while in bed with his sister…” She trailed off, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.

Cesare took a moment to look at her. _Lucrezia Borgia - so beautiful, so cunning, so playful._ “Our father would be furious,” he laughed, tipped her chin and kissed her lips.

As she ran her fingertips over the stumble on his jaw and kissed him softly back, he wondered how it could be wrong to love her so much and almost decided that it wasn’t.

He understood, however, that their tryst would end soon since at the papal court that morning, inevitably, an invisible mechanism was set in motion – an apparatus of whispers, dossier entries, hints and tentative intrigues.

Perhaps they could linger for just another moment, he thought. But there was no such luck, and no warning either.

“Rise and shine from your depraved bed, dear brother.”

Juan opened the door with a jerk, strutted through the room, an unbearable grin on his face and flung himself on the bed next to Cesare. In shock, Lucrezia blushed and pulled the sheets up around her, fervent to hide under them.

“Is there a point to your intrusion?” Cesare gnashed his teeth. He knew Juan would milk this for all it was worth and so the lewd mockery followed not unexpectedly:

“You mean apart from conveying my fraternal reverence to the Cardinal who – within the pales of the Church – took it upon himself to fill our immaculate virgin sister with his holy spirit?”

Cesare seethed with rage. But Lucrezia, under the sheets, put her small hand in his. As she stroked the back of his hand softly with her thumb, it calmed him a little.

“Yes, aside from that,” Cesare answered, still wary of his urge to throttle his brother.

“Only that the Cardinal has other duties besides worship and benefaction. There is the tedious business of political plots our father would like you to attend to.”

More caustic mockery from Juan and an inescapable demand from the Pope; Cesare did not care for either. “I am out of sorts this morning, brother.”

“You should go, Cesare!” Lucrezia whispered, her voice slightly shaking. “You said it yourself, we ought to be careful.”

Sullenly, Cesare closed his eyes and exhaled. Then he got up and donned his red robe. Grabbing Juan’s arm violently, he pulled him up from the bed and close to his side.

“You will be kind to our sister, you understand me?” Cesare hissed through clenched teeth.

“What?” Juan smirked. “No more comments on your night of lechery and debauchery?”

Cesare’s grip tightened, his knuckles whitened, his fingernails pressed sharply into Juan’s flesh.

“Juan, please!” Lucrezia exclaimed. Terrified of the violence unleashing, her eyes filled with tears.

“It’s fine, sis!” Juan said, almost serious. “That which our dear brother calls sin in others is catechism for him. So I shall be indulgent and consider the sermon and the preacher distinctly and apart.”

“Such a fine example how even your feigned compassion makes me livid with rage,” Cesare smiled sardonically, a dangerous sparkle in his eyes. “Is there anything else you want?”

Juan’s voice was thick with sarcasm: “Perhaps a bit less sanctimony from your Eminence when it comes to your lowly brother’s indiscretions.”

Although Cesare had let go of Juan, he still glared at him, not saying a word. The longer the silence lasted, the more uncomfortable Juan got. That much was obvious.

“I would never do or say anything that would torment my sister,” Juan rolled his eyes, exasperatedly dismissing his previous innuendos. “Not even anything that would actually hurt you for that matter. You must know that!”

The tension slowly left Cesare’s body as he exhaled. They were family after all.

“Good,” he paused. “At the banquet, Lucrezia’s garments got ruined. Perhaps you would find her a suitable gown and accompany her home. Surely I need not mention that discretion is irremissable.”

“Of course,” Juan grinned and bowed slightly before Cesare. “At your service.” He just couldn’t help himself, it appeared.

Cesare shook his head in slight despair. He went over to his bed and, inhaling the soothing chamomile scent of her hair, kissed Lucrezia’s temple.

“Our brother may look after you,” he said softly. “I promise I shall be with you as soon as father’s assignments allow me, my love.”

Yet, only when she looked at him and nodded reassuringly, he felt that he could actually leave.

***

This day too the vultures were circling above the Vatican beneath whose shadow its occupants followed their calling. The Pope, Rodrigo Borgia as he had been known before his elevation, paced impatiently in his private audience chamber. From the alcove of the window seat, Cardinal Giuliano Della Rovere studied him carefully.

“We need them frightened. We need them hopeless.”

Whether he was talking about the Orsini, the Colonna, the Sforza, was anybody’s guess. Probably about all of them.

“Tell me, Cardinal,” he continued. “How will We heal this dissension amongst Our Holy Mother Church and her dignitaries?”

Della Rovere’s brows rose. The tide had turned and was currently in his favour, but that was subject to swift change as it always was in Rome. After last night’s frivolous revelry, however, he was simply too ill-tempered to hedge around the subject.

“We are being buried beneath the avalanche of your inadequacies, Your Holiness. Our Holy Mother Church yearns for the iron broom the Holy Father had once so providently promised.“

“Compulsory expropriation for parochial utility,” Borgia said pensively. He jerked to a halt and pointed at Della Rovere. “I like it!”

It should have been a mystery how Borgia construed this idea from his words but Della Rovere wasn’t surprised at all. Certainly there was greed and the urge to provide for his kin but it was more than that.

When the French came, the Roman families had forsaken Borgia one by one. The Colonna were first and the Sforza, ignoring any military contract concluded in Lucrezia Borgia’s marital bed, quickly fell in line. In the end even the Orsini stampeded, offering their services to the French king.

So Della Rovere knew why, at least for the moment, he was sitting here, informally replacing the Vice Chancellor Ascanio Sforza. As unpleasant as they might find each other’s company, there were also no unpleasant surprises. Borgia always knew where Della Rovere stood.

“The Holy See’s new alliance with Spain and the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation will surely replenish the papal armies,” Della Rovere coaxed his opponent. “But do Your Holiness deem it wise to steal from Rome’s aristocratic houses. I wonder if it might… agitate them.”

A smug smile spread across Borgia’s face. Apparently, Della Rovere stating the obvious amused him greatly.

“Heavens, no!” he feigned shock. “Stealing implies ownership. We can't steal a fiefdom that is Ours to grant; can We not? We shall merely reclaim it.“

It was impressive indeed how Borgia twisted reality so that his position suddenly appeared justified.

“And how, may I ask, do Your Holiness intend to allot those fiefs after they have been… reclaimed?”

“Oh!” Borgia said as if he hadn’t given it any thought before. “In the interest of the Church, Benevent, Terracina and Pontecorvo must of course be entrusted to the Duke of Gandia. But after that, We shall appoint a council of cardinals to deal with this tedious task.”

Della Rovere had to stifle his laughter. Naturally, Borgia assigned the biggest piece of the cake to that criminally incompetent bastard son of his. The idea of the council, however, could prove interesting. Of course that depended on who would be on said council.

“A splendid idea!” Della Rovere exclaimed, not too careful to hide his cynicism. “But who would the Holy Father deem worthy to join this distinguished group?”

Borgia finally sat down next to him. He sighed deeply, surely due to the burden of this difficult decision.

“We were praying to God for guidance,” he said and raised his hands, emphasizing his invocation.

Della Rovere rolled his eyes at Borgia’s performance. “And I trust, God answered those prayers?”

“Indeed!” Borgia nodded almost humble at the thought of the Lord. “There shall be six cardinals on the council. And We shall need your expertise, Cardinal, to choose the most superior individuals for the glory of Our Holy Mother Church and for the persistence of the papacy.”

In other words, Borgia needed his support with the College of Cardinals. This farce was beyond absurd. Della Rovere laughed out loud.

“You want someone who is sensitive to your needs, but still decisive enough for the occasional grope in the closet.“

The Pope shook his head in disbelief. His answer then reeked of spurious recognition and a feigned reproach.

“Humble servant of Our Holy Mother Church, judge of virtue and piety, and now a comedian. Has anyone ever told you that you overplay your various roles rather severely, Cardinal Della Rovere?“

A sarcastic smile played around Borgia’s lips. Della Rovere closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. It wasn’t even noon yet and he was already tired of conspiracies.

 

***

It had to be indeed an ironic quirk of fate that made him the papal legate of propriety. Worst of all, Juan realised, were the expectations that came with the post. Discretion, yes, that was all good and well but it demanded careful thinking: Clearly not his forte.

The acquisition of a proper gown proved to be a headache. He couldn’t ask the maids. That would only lead to gossip, especially if Lucrezia was seen publicly in a peasant dress. It would take too much time to go to mother’s. His sister already suffered from nerves, so it would be best to find a solution that was closer. He couldn’t ask Giulia Farnese without adding another accessory to the crime. Which left him with Felice Della Rovere. After all, she was already in the know.

Thank God, the part that required thinking was over. Juan was relieved. Cesare should be bloody proud of him. So, a quick trip to the Orsini palace then…

“I bid you a good day, my lady!” Juan called as he entered her chambers unannounced.

To his dismay she was not alone. Giulia Farnese was with her, probably, as per his father’s wishes, to keep a close watch on their involuntary guest. This would complicate matters indeed. He nodded curtly at the Pope’s mistress.

Not interrupting her needlework, Della Rovere’s daughter smiled, “My lord, I did not expect you here at such an early hour. Rome’s whorehouses must be vermin infested!”

So it hadn’t been a lapse of memory, she was just as rude as he recalled her from the night before.

“Unfortunately, the French brought back two diseases. One of them being your father!” he retorted, immediately worrying that he had been too harsh. After all, he had come to ask a favour.

“So horribly sad. How is it I feel like laughing?” she answered deliberately. “Of course, your visiting flatters me as there must be more wanton women his lordship could attend to.”

“But none more brazen,” he sneered and bowed with feigned deference.

Juan felt Giulia Farnese’s suspicious gaze wandering back and forth between them. It was essential he addressed his problem casually but quickly.

While he was still pondering on an innocuous starting point, Giulia enquired calmly, “May I ask the reason for your visit, Juan?”

So it was time for eloquent prevarications, which he hated almost as much as thinking.

“The Lady Lucrezia, asked me to convey a favour to Donna Felice,” he paused unsure how to continue. “As she was to attend mass in honour of Saint Catherine of Siena, my dear sister realised that she lacked an appropriate dress.”

Both women looked at him expectantly and Juan felt how beads of sweat ran down his back, soaking his expensive brocade shirt.

Felice took pity on him. “The lady’s wardrobe could not yet be retrieved from Pesaro?”

Juan sighed relieved, “A calamity really. So we would appeal to your generosity in this hour of need.”

“I bemoan your sister’s predicament.” Her words were sickly sweet as she alluded to last night’s indecencies. “But I am honoured she holds my sense for fashion in such high esteem.”

A glance to the side assured him that Giulia Farnese was not buying one bit of this sham. If only it would please the Cardinal’s daughter to stop tantalizing him. Perhaps an offering was needed.

“Indeed. My sister was also very interested in the ribbon of Venetian _pavonazzo_ your mother purchased for your ladyship last week,” he adulated. “Lucrezia instructed me to abet you, Donna Felice, in communicating to your dear mother a sincere compliment on her findings.”

Thus far, all of Felice’s correspondence had been intercepted. His offer to deliver a letter should be regarded as a great concession. But it was anybody’s guess how she would react to his proposal. The night before, she had been truly appalled, as they had witnessed Cesare’s and Lucrezia’s transgression.

“How very kind of her ladyship,” she pretended to be moved.

The silence that followed lasted an eternity. Finally she got up and took a black cotton dress from a wooden chest.

“It is simple, but of very costly eastern fibre. I hope it pleases your sister and aids her in finding repentance and devotions on the altar of Saint Catherine of Siena.”

Juan could still feel Giulia Farnese’s mistrustful stare burning into his flesh as Della Rovere’s daughter finally handed over the gown.

 

***

As the sun climbed to its zenith, Rome lay torpid in an eternal dead heat. Encouraged perhaps by the timidity people displayed in trying to pacify his anger, Della Rovere demanded to see his daughter in private.

“The fact that no one ever simply comes to visit, should inspire you to appropriate _prudentia_ ,” he reprimanded her while showing Giulia Farnese the door.

He had already encountered Juan Borgia in the hallway. Seeing the likes of the Pope’s son and mistress stream in and out of his daughter’s chambers, he felt subverted and indignant at the same time.

“I cannot prevent them from coming,” she replied matter-of-factly. “As they insist I sojourn in their palace.”

“Indeed,” he said and a bitter undertone could be detected in his voice. Bitter not only because the Borgia had captured her but also because she had let them.

She must have felt his disappointment, he realised, as she now pleaded, “I would be most willing to exhaust myself in working for your good. I would be your eyes and ears.”

“You are not, if you will forgive my mention of such indelicacies, to associate yourself with that harlot Farnese or that lecherous lout, the favourite son of the mitred ape that currently occupies the throne of Saint Peter.”

So, with lack of trust, he struck at the heart of his daughter. He did not miss. The wound – while not invariably fatal – would leave another scar. She was married, she was widowed and yet he feared so young and impressionable.

Fine strands of brunette hair stuck out of her bun and the black velvet dress with the flimsy ivory blouse underneath looked too big for her frame. Her mien still stubborn but with tears in her eyes nonetheless, she looked at him in silence, scared to displease him.

He intended for it to sound softer but it still rang harsh, “I suggest you find strength in prayer and attend to your sewing.”

Their relationship was awkward. Many a time he had concluded that if he were not embarrassed and haunted by his vows of chastity, it might be possible to love her. The same old striving to satisfy his obligations and atone for his insufficiencies made it unimaginable to ignore her.

When she kept silent, he did not know what to do but place the rosary in her hands. It was most beautiful with rose quartz prayer beads and a diamond studded silver crucifix in the centre.

“A gift?” she asked, composed.

He nodded.

 

***

Now the door opened cautiously, and she recognized the carmine silk brocade on a strong arm. Lucrezia, pulling her boastful brother behind her into her hiding place, quickly shut it behind him. An hour after she was left alone in Cesare’s chamber, her nerves were shot. Scantily dressed in one of her brother’s threadbare shifts, she shivered despite the stifling hot air that filled the room.

“I think I shall never be more pleased to see you, dear Juan.”

Exhausted by the terrors of imminent discovery, she was shaking and struggled to stay on her feet. He steadied her, seemingly unwilling to indulge her hysterics.

“No need for such passionate exuberance,” he teased her, nonchalant. “Cesare might get jealous.”

“You must take care not to exasperate him so,” Lucrezia worried, dismissing his joke. “Sometimes I fear the discord between you has so set you in arms against each other that one of you would suffer grave injury.”

“Our brother is a gloomy cleric with not a whit of humour,” Juan snorted, handing her the dress. While she put it on and adjusted the laces on the bodice, he continued, “Perhaps he will lighten up now that you fulfilled his deepest desire. God knows, I’m sick of his cantankerous conduct.”

Lucrezia smoothed down the dress, then looked at him. Unlike Cesare he had never thought her faultless, wished her innocent. Surely Juan had never given these things any thought, but had simply expected her to fill her natural role as a woman. Meanwhile Cesare had been inwardly at war with those who stopped her from remaining a child forever.

“His deepest desire?” she showed surprise.

Juan rolled his eyes, obviously disbelieving. Lucrezia bowed her head and bit her lip. But she could not blame him. After all, he had seen her beguile a king to save their father’s papacy.

“Oh don’t tell me you didn’t know, sister!” Juan laughed. “On a good day you are sweet and dutiful. On a bad day you are a little minx.”

A bit ashamed but wondering whether it was a compliment, Lucrezia smiled nonetheless.

 

***

By late afternoon, Lucrezia – freshly bathed and changed into an apricot silk gown seamed with gold thread embroidered ribbon – arrived at the Orsini Palace where she found Giulia in the parlour attending to needlework.

“Mama has gone to bestow alms on the poor of Campo Marzio,” Lucrezia planted a light kiss on Giulia’s cheek. “So I came to attend upon _La Bella Farnese_.”

It still amused Giulia how Lucrezia pronounced her name: Long drawn-out syllables divided in awe.

“How very kind and thoughtful of you, my dear,” she replied and bowed her head respectfully. “You must sit with me then,” she continued, putting away her embroidery hoop and offering Lucrezia the place next to her on the _cassapanca_.

“Papa has permitted me my own bedchamber in your beautiful palace. So that I can stay here after festivities when returning home to mama’s is not practicable.” Lucrezia was excited but looking at Giulia suddenly seemed to hesitate, “You don’t mind, do you? I would feel horrible if I became a nuisance to my precious friend.”

At once Giulia resolved all doubt. “Of course I don’t mind, my love. In fact, I suggested it to His Holiness.” She took Lucrezia’s hand as she went on, “It’s the prettiest room of all, suffused with light, a bed draped in lilac silk, a dressing table made from cherry wood and when you open the chest, you will find that it is filled with some of your favourite garments.”

Pleased by Lucrezia’s amazement and her subsequent affectionate embrace, Giulia smiled.

“Giulia, it is indeed the most marvellous day. It had been before but now it is certainly most perfect,” she proclaimed breathlessly, her cheeks lightly flushed.

Lucrezia altogether, Giulia observed, glowed brightly, radiated with liveliness. Her young friend’s reaction clearly pleased her. Yet, thinking back at this morning’s strange encounter in their guest’s chambers, she was bursting with curiosity, ached for revelation. How to approach this delicate matter? In reminiscence of Lucrezia’s confession regarding the stable boy, Giulia prayed, she would confide in her again.

“Last night’s banquet was a glorious exhibition of splendour and luxury. The Holy Father was truly dedicated to this reverend tribute to the Virgin Mary,” Giulia started carefully. “I must have lost you in the crowd eventually. I trust your evening proved delightful regardless?”

“Oh very much so!” Lucrezia spilled happily.

This might not be so hard after all. Giulia hoped to keep the element of surprise on her side.

“You found yourself a new pleasure then, my love? Another Narcissus?” she asked casually as she brushed a strand of golden hair from Lucrezia’s face.

Seemingly absorbed in thought, Lucrezia faltered. She averted her eyes, perhaps wary of Giulia’s intentions and collected her thoughts.

“Hardly. Ceyx rather,” Lucrezia answered slowly, providing a more fitting image.

Intrigued by this arcane comparison, Giulia waited for more, but Lucrezia, a mysterious smile on her lips, did not open her heart to her. Disappointed, Giulia realised she had lost her advantage. Now she would have to act demure, indifferent even until Lucrezia succumbed to the allure of sharing her secret. It would need a sensitive yet vulpine cleverness to worm the details out of her.

Giulia sighed, “Not a servant, I trust? This is not the bucolic idyll of the province. All of Rome, my dear Lucrezia, eyes you with particular interest.”

She was putting almost sisterly concern into her voice. But Lucrezia appeared unfazed.

“I may succour you in your disquiet, Donna Giulia. He is of highest distinction,” Lucrezia smiled and lowered her gaze coyly. “Still, I should be pleased if you gave me more instruction.”

With a half smile, Giulia nodded gracefully and resumed her role as a mentor. After all, it could be a way in.

“Women are obliged to be skilful and discreet in their affairs, my dear. One can ruin our reputation with a few well-chosen words,” Giulia advised, her tone however casual. “And the Pope’s daughter cannot be subject of such dispraise.”

“So I am to be secretive then?” Lucrezia replied knowingly. “I shall be good at that. With you and mama, I had the best teachers, did I not?”

Relieved that Lucrezia appeared to understand the necessity for reticence and circumspection, Giulia smiled at her eager student.

“What more would you know?” Giulia encouraged Lucrezia’s desire for guidance.

“We spoke about cultivating certain weapons,” Lucrezia blushed at first but gave her a level almost provocative look as she continued firmly, “and you implied a plethora of unseemly kisses, and the importance of … touch. Tell me more, Giulia Farnese!”

If she exercised patience, Lucrezia would eventually break. In the meantime, Giulia realised, she would have to find proper explanations for improper endeavours.

And so she began, “The art of caressing with your lips, my dear, must not be limited to your lover’s mouth, or his neck…”

***

The scandal had reached its high point when, by noontide, Giuliano Orsini’s body was found on the banks of a large reedy pond near Rome. Proactively, the Pope had allowed for some deviation from the usual schedule. Accusations were inevitable, ironically from those who had sought Cesare’s life. Cesare thought he should be more offended by it. But taking off his robe and running home to _her_ was all he could think about.

Throughout the day, Cesare, every time he found himself facing his father, had walked away from him, gaze lowered and with a fake obedient smile. In the midst of cumbersome errands, he noticed that Micheletto had returned barefoot; saw the bruised feet, the hands with their cracked nails, and could no longer believe his own memory. _Lucrezia, the poisoned chalice, their fevered coupling._ It seemed absurd. It seemed unreal.

By dusk he was released. After he had washed off the sweat and dust of this dreary day, he put on his tight leather breeches and a doublet of black damask laced with copper rawhide. There, finally, he would go to mother’s and see Lucrezia, see if it had all been an illusion. But again his father sent for him, insisted they had supper.

“Piccolomini and Carafa are very fine choices, Your Holiness,” Della Rovere agreed.

They talked about some council, the purpose of which escaped him. Cesare cupped his chin in his hand and played with a knife. Ham and a little bread – he understood why none of the cardinals were particularly keen on dining with the Pope. At least a light breeze filled in, but it was still a warm evening on the patio overlooking the Vatican Gardens. In the flickering light of the candle, Della Rovere’s daughter seemed also haunted by boredom. They would sit here all night if nothing happened. Cesare rolled his eyes and rammed the knife into the table.

“So we are all friends now?” he remarked sarcastically. “Funny how that happens.”

His father glared and seemed to change the topic of conversation just to spite him.

“Speaking of friends, family even, We should give some thought to a new husband for your sister, should We not?”

Cesare gnashed his teeth, “Why? Because that worked out so well last time, father?”

Without doubt his father would slap him right then, right there.

“Perhaps the Cardinal has some advice,” he did not indulge him, turning to Della Rovere instead. “You must have thought about a new marriage for your daughter?”

“Indeed, Your Holiness,” Della Rovere was quick to reply. “The Duke of Lorraine was amongst those I took into consideration.”

“Here we go with the French again,” the Pope threw his hands up in despair. “Since we are friends now, as the Cardinal Borgia observed so astutely, you might want to reconsider?”

“The Lord of Piombino would make a most worthy candidate,” Della Rovere suggested instead.

“Nice castle. I had thought about him for Lucrezia at some point,” the Pope acknowledged then turned to the girl. “Would you approve of this fine choice, my child?”

 _A rhetorical question._ The annoyance had passed and Cesare felt bored again.

“I would not,” the Cardinal’s daughter answered unexpectedly, holding his father’s gaze.

There was an awkward silence before Cesare burst into laughter. Across the table, Della Rovere’s face betrayed his fury and embarrassment.

“Well,” the Pope smiled mildly as he reached out and patted the girl’s hand. “We are glad you enjoy your stay with us so much then.”

On this amusing note, Cesare thought it must be the right time to leave, until he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“May I join such buoyant company?” Lucrezia asked cheerfully and curtseyed.

She bent over and embraced their father briefly, who replied a bit absent-minded, “Of course, my dear, of course!”

Surely just for the lack of chairs, Lucrezia sat down on Cesare’s lap. Lightheaded and confused at first, but gradually regaining composure he cleared his throat.

“I thought you at mother’s, sis.”

“Thanks to papa, I have my own room now at the Orsini Place,” she announced proudly as she put one hand behind his neck, and gently caressed the back of his head.

“And We take delight in your gratification, my child,” their father replied generously.

Only now when Lucrezia’s hand kindly pulled him closer until he rested his forehead on her temple, Cesare realised how tired he was. With steady pressure, her thumb drew tiny circles in the hollow behind his earlobe alleviating his fatigue. As his lips parted, he exhaled stifling a moan.

So many times before when their faces had been less than a breath apart, his fingertips had tipped her cheek, he had nudged her nose with his, Cesare had told himself that their love was pure and all consuming like the love of God. If he felt an urge, it must only be one to protect her. Now he couldn’t think about anything than kissing her neck, making her gasp but last night seemed so far away that he still wasn’t sure he hadn’t dreamt it.

Suddenly, Lucrezia withdrew her arm. Adjusting her skirts, her knuckles brushed his crotch. Accidently, he was certain. For a moment she rested her hand on his thigh. Short of breath, his heart racing, he sat there and realised he had not paid attention to the conversation for some time now. For a moment he forced himself to listen. _Da Costa, Cesarini_ – his father mentioned some boring old cardinals. Him and Della Rovere must have gone back to discussing the council. He just prayed that nobody would ask his opinion when he felt Lucrezia’s hand moving up between his thighs.

“You are awfully quiet, my son,” the Pope remarked tartly. “When We are dying to learn your opinion on this most paramount matter!”

“I think,” Cesare inhaled fighting for a clear thought and a steady voice. “I shall trust your evaluation completely, Holy Father.”

Covered by darkness, Lucrezia softly ran her fingertips up and down his groin. In disbelief, Cesare now held his breath until he felt dizzy. All the blood rushed from his head. His swollen flesh throbbed painfully against the leather of his codpiece.

“Oh really?” his father replied mockingly. “Now aren’t We relieved by your sudden faith in Our judgement!”

Surely, he was expecting an equally sarcastic demonstration of obedience, but Cesare couldn’t think of a clever retort. Too distracted by his sister’s touch, Cesare trembled. Thankfully the conversation moved on without him.

Just as he thought he would break under her torture, Lucrezia took her hand away. Relieved yet disappointed, he exhaled. As it turned out, his recovery was short-lived. A moment later, she shifted her weight so she sat directly on the hard bulge of his crotch. Panic welled up in him. Awaiting her next move with weary, helpless excitement, Cesare realised he was completely at his sister’s mercy. By and by Lucrezia, tilting her hips, rocked back and forth in tiny circling motions.

Oh God. This could not be happening. Not here almost in public with their father around. Heart pounding, he fought for air. This was insanity. Soon something would give them away because if he didn’t put an end to her incitement, he would surely do something foolish.

“What are you doing, sis?” Cesare groaned quietly through clenched teeth.

His fingers tipped her chin, turning her face towards his. Confused. Aroused. His brows rose, his eyes pleading with her. She smiled and parted her lips slightly as she leaned in close to his ear.

“Do you mind, Cesare? Is it really wicked?” Lucrezia whispered, putting special emphasis on the last word.

His eyes closed, he breathed heavily. Her teasing him thus was unbearable. At last, she seemed to take pity on him. She kissed his cheek and rose from his lap.

“May I bid you good night?” she asked politely. “I hazard I am overcome by tiredness.”

Their father accepted her good night kiss, “You, my child, sleep well.”

Churning, Cesare watched Lucrezia and whatever had gone overboard disappear into the night. Now it would be agony to submit to the dictate of caution and wait until following her would not arouse suspicion. The discussion went back to politics and he vainly attempted to further time’s progress by playing with the knife again. Della Rovere’s daughter stared at him, her grey eyes lustreless.

“Isn’t it past the lady’s bedtime?” Cesare got up before anyone could protest. “I shall escort her to her chambers then.”

***

In a sheer white nightgown, made to intoxicate the beholder’s conjectures, Lucrezia sat at her dressing table brushing her long blonde hair. This was her luck running out. Withal, she had been certain he would come. How long had it been since she had left? Surely, she just needed more patience.

Her unrest yielded to relief, indeed to a kind of merriment, when Cesare finally entered her chambers. Putting down the brush, she turned to her brother and saw him leaning against the door. In silence he looked her over from tip to toe.

“Am I beautiful, Cesare?” she asked, suddenly insecure.

“Very,” he replied seriously. “But –“

Her mouth was dry. “But what?”

“There’s a punishment for teasing,” he said slowly, looking at her like a cat playing with a mouse.

Reassured of her charms but also wary of his intentions, Lucrezia shivered when she asked, “What is that?”

“Oh,” Cesare smiled deviously. “I think you know.”

Obviously, she would not get away but Lucrezia jumped up and ran nonetheless. Soon she was cornered. When he caught her, his arms fastened around her waist. All she could do was kick and laugh and pant.

“I shall spank you,” he murmured, flinging her down on the bed, falling with her.

In vain she struggled against him as he flipped her around and twined one leg around both of hers. Sitting up, he forced her over his lap.

“No, no,” she hiccupped, laughing. “How rude of you, brother!”

Against her struggling, he pressed her shoulders down with one hand, while the other pushed her nightgown up around her waist.

“And taunting me in front of father and his guests was not, sis?” he enquired in a harmless tone of voice.

Finally, he raised his hand and gave her the first sharp slap across her rearing bottom. Half startled, half laughing she yelped and squirmed under her brother.

“I’m not sorry!” she defied him breathlessly.

Suddenly exhausted from her futile efforts to break free, Lucrezia stayed still panting heavily. Cesare was dangerously quiet. When she felt his hand on her again, it was softly soothing what surely was a rosy mark on her white flesh. Against better judgement, Lucrezia allowed herself to be lulled into a false sense of security and her muscles relaxed.

“So I thought,” he pondered, still stroking her tenderly.

Suddenly, he lifted his hand and it lashed down again and again on her soon darkly blushing behind. Lucrezia whimpered. It wasn’t really pain there was something else. Lust, she realised, embarrassed. How was it that this made her feel an excited desire to debase herself?

Lucrezia imagined she were kneeling with her head pressed into the coverlet; her back arching towards Cesare who would slap and pinch the flesh of her bottom, then squeeze it furiously once he would thrust into her. How heavenly the thought that his big soft hands would wander to her perky breasts, while his mouth would kiss her neck and shoulders, while he would drive in and out of her, brutish and reckless.

 _A tergo_ , she had overheard loose women calling it, was thought most forbidden and feral. At the thought of it, a blissful warmth spread across her body, her loins were afire from her brother’s chastising strokes, thence Lucrezia moaned sensually. Then again Cesare, ending her musing, stopped his assault and changed the pace to soft caresses.

“Please dear brother, don’t spank me anymore,” she blushed, suddenly ashamed of her reverie and her body’s response. “It makes me feel all tight.”

His fingers strayed between her slightly opened thighs, where they found her slippery and wet. Lucrezia sighed at his touch. At last, he stopped and eased his grip on her. She wriggled out from under him losing her nightgown in the process.

“Perhaps that’s enough punishment for now, my love,” he muttered as he slowly got up and slipped out of his clothes.

With delight, Lucrezia saw that her brother was also aroused. Back on the bed, Cesare leaned against the pillows, arms crossed behind his head. There he displayed not the slightest inclination to lure and seduce her. Still kneeling at the other end, Lucrezia suddenly felt self-conscious. How glad she was for her long blonde hair to cover her nudity. All those pleasant feelings she had earlier turned into doubt. Last night aside, so far she only knew intimacies as brutal marital claims or comforting kindness. Other than with words she had never been forced to initiate such diversions herself. Lucrezia wondered whether her brother wanted her to touch certain parts of his body, the thought of it made her blush.

“Weren’t you eager to sit in my lap before, sis?” Cesare dared her.

Reluctantly, she crawled up and straddled him. It appeared he had realised her hesitation since he sat up and, his hands on her hips, pulled her closer to him.

“What worries you, my love?” he asked, brushing a strand of golden hair from her face.

She looked at him, discouraged. “The women I spied… and your nun –“

Rolling his eyes, he snorted disdainfully. But Lucrezia still looked at him, very serious and nervous, and pointed to something that made him uncomfortable.

“None of them was as enticing as you,” he smiled, but it didn’t seem enough. So he put his hands on her shoulders and looked firmly into her eyes. “They do not count.”

Lucrezia took heart in this. She nodded and he kissed her softly. Now, her emotions calmed, Lucrezia remembered to feel again: Skin on skin, the firmness of his arms, legs and chest against the softness of her hands, thighs and breasts. Lucrezia raised her head, fixing her eyes on Cesare with an expression of young and tender helplessness, not fully certain how much of it he would believe. For the moment he indulged her and grasped one of her breasts in each hand. Taking turns he latched his hot mouth on them, caressed them both devotedly. The voracious suction of his lips, the tingling lick of his tongue seemed to be directly connected to her loins.

Underneath her, she felt him hard between her thighs. So close to slipping inside of her. Cold shivers slid convulsively down her spine. She was getting wet again with the thought. Grinding down on him she eagerly rubbed the sticky moist folds of her slit against him. Silently Lucrezia prayed to the Virgin Mary and all her Saints that Cesare would end her agony.

“You’re an ordained priest,“ she whispered brokenly. “And you took vows, did you not? To anoint the sick.”

“I did,” Cesare murmured kissing her collarbone then moving on to her neck. “Are you in need of my duties, sis?”

“When we last copulated,” Lucrezia blushed nervously but also giggled lightly at the prospect of using even filthier words. “It seemed so unholy and naughty that in my deprivation I desire it even more. Would you cure me from this illness, bless me with your staff and seed, brother?”

Amused, Cesare stopped his kisses, shaken out of his stride by her lascivious appeal.

“After the College of Cardinals declared you still untouched,” he stroked her blonde hair, taking delight in teasing his sister. “Didn’t the Virgin Mary call you to the novitiate, my love?”

Lucrezia looked piteously, “Mama said it was a delirium caused by childbed fever. And San Sisto is far away. I shall need your help, Cesare!”

His reluctance was frustrating and provoking at once. Clearly he elicited her bashfulness to taunt her. Perhaps even a little so she would conquer it.

“God would want you to show spirit, Lucrezia!” Cesare encouraged her with a sly smile. “Once you do, as His servant, I shall assuage your hunger.”

Oh, she should have known that he wouldn’t be susceptible to her manipulation, not now when he wasn’t furious or guilt-ridden. Gingerly, she rested her hands on his shoulders, slid closer, brushed his thick dark hair back and kissed the three birthmarks on his temple. Now she would need courage. Suddenly feeling bold, she lifted herself up and grabbed his length. Shaky and insecure as she was, Cesare finally took pity on her. He put his hand on hers guiding his shaft to her poised aperture. At last, Lucrezia lowered herself gently then sank down forcefully a moment later.

Now inescapably joined, she sighed at the aching feeling of being as close to him as she could possibly be. At first carefully, but soon vehemently she rose and descended on him, her usually pale cheeks and cleavage rosy-tinted and heated. Her breasts jumped with her plunges and Cesare, his hands on her hips, forced her thighs lower and lower. Thus, her knees slithered farther away from his loins until her wet centre contracted around his cock and pressed down to its very base. Her eyes heavy-lidded and her mouth slightly open, Lucrezia moaned with pleasure when Cesare guided his fingers between their frantic bodies and began to stroke her most sensitive spot. How could he cause her such tremendous pleasure? As the tight, hot sensation that started to spread deep within her belly took over her, all her jealous feelings made way for an astonishing gratitude. Those harlots had taught him well. And after all, she knew it was her he wanted.

“Brother,” she gasped breathlessly. “Aren’t you thankful? For nobody would ever make you feel the way I do.”

Cesare could only nod while he began to thrust up into her heat with a movement that made her stomach turn over. His face clearly showed her that he had no intention to lie back and let her direct this experience any longer. His hips gained an erratic rhythm and it didn’t take long until she forgot everything, until her body seemed to overheat more and more with every moment this prurient delight lasted. At the end of every upward stroke she ground her centre and bottom against him, squirming on him for a few seconds until gasps burst from his lips.

“Oh Cesare, I feel I shall break and die in such happiness,” she moaned trembling and whimpering and holding his shoulders with intense force as she felt him soar up inside her.

Her body shaking with continual spasms, Lucrezia squealed as her muscles clamped down on Cesare, who continued his hard thrusts until a moment later he jerked violently and found his own release. Burying his head in his sister’s hair while relishing the moment, Cesare murmured hoarsely, “You learn fast, sis. I’m exhausted like a bull after the _corrida_.”

“What a feat,” Lucrezia swooned, numb with awe.

For some time afterwards, still excited and hardly knowing where she was, Lucrezia, lazily swaying about, nestled defencelessly against her brother. Lovingly, Cesare pulled her towards him then let them casually drop back onto the bed. Smoothing down her dishevelled hair, he counted the breaths she took.

“Would we do it again before you ought to leave, Cesare?” Lucrezia glanced up at him.

Cesare embraced her tightly and smiled. “We still have hours, my love.”

 

***

For the first time in days, the night sky revealed stars. The huge golden-red dust cloud that hung above Rome’s hills was finally parted by winds. In this hour before daybreak, Giulia rose from her bed. Instructing the servants to open all windows and let in the cool fresh air felt essential. But then down the hall by Lucrezia’s chambers she suddenly stopped and listened carefully. Noises and whispers played within her head and at once she was tight in curiosity’s grip. Giulia leaned silently back into the darkness of a nook, until she felt the rustling wind behind her forcing its way through the open window. With morning quickly approaching, she wouldn’t have to wait long. Soon she would learn the identity of Lucrezia’s secret paramour. Giulia rejoiced at her finesse and good fortune.

Then indeed, as if gazing at an omen of future misery, the door opened, soon thereafter closed and Giulia stared expectantly. Panicked for a minute with her brain in a daze, she wouldn’t even flinch she couldn’t try to move. The nausea hit her in a shock that shattered her morals, congealed every motion. She wished she had never known.

_It was Cesare Borgia._

The sun came up, her heart beat faster and every question faded. Only hours later when she had found countenance again, Giulia trusted she would also find words.

Before Lucrezia’s arrival, she had languished in the August heat, but now she sat enthralled by tension. Even at this time mid-morning, it was expedient to hide in the shade. Giulia was seated on a bench between two pillars, admiring the knot garden; outlined and partitioned by short box hedges; its gaps were filled with ornaments of violets, calendula and chamomiles. It should be soothing but daunting thoughts overwhelmed her.

Now Lucrezia sat next to her, resting her head lightly on Giulia’s shoulder. Her deep eyes almost closed Lucrezia basked in the sun. A serene smile on her luscious lips, she ought to be longing for her brother.

_Beautiful Lucrezia, a sweet delight, angelic even, and brooding Cesare, a looming danger, diabolic indeed._

There was no virtuous way to address a vice so vile. Giulia, firmly convinced of her might to discern good and evil, fought for the air in her lungs.

“Last night’s visit of your brother to your chambers filled my heart with concern, Lucrezia, my dear,” there she finally had said it. Almost transfixed by her own voice, Giulia sank back into the bench. “When he shares your bed, it is a sin not easily amended, not even by the Pope. So for the salvation of your soul, I shall confide in the Holy Father.”

And really, this wasn’t an act. In her life, she had sinned and saw others sinning, but never so severely. Giulia was deeply distraught by her young friend’s iniquity. If only Lucrezia realised that she was seduced by her brother and the devil, who Giulia believed with absolute certainty were one and the same.

Lucrezia sighed and there was silence until she evidently had decided on the proper wording of her answer.

“Even as children, Cesare and I were entirely enraptured with each other. It doesn’t feel unnatural,” she recalled dreamily before the tone of her voice adopted another nuance of sweetness.

“So if you confessed it would be sad indeed, for I regard you my friend, Donna Giulia, and I should never wish for harm to befall you,” Lucrezia declared in what was seemingly a judicious mixture of flattery and threat.

Giulia shivered despite the summer heat. During all this time, the uneasiness she felt around Rodrigo’s eldest son had never passed. Evermore she had listened to the servants’ whisper of his murderous deeds. Panic and shock overcame Giulia as she tried to grasp the implications, as she tried to breathe.

But perhaps, Giulia clang to a fragile hope, paranoia clouded her judgement. Maybe Lucrezia’s words ought to be interpreted otherwise and she was merely asking her to be lenient for, were their roles reversed, she would be equally compliant with Giulia’s secrets. She wanted to believe it desperately.

Yet a slight uncertainty remained. Lucrezia smiled at her – was it lovable or insidious? Giulia shuddered because she simply could not tell.

***

But again, truth be told, if he were looking for the guilty he only needed to look into a mirror. When Juan realised that this drama was in danger of running out of steam, he must have decided to give it a push in another ominous direction. Cesare should have never expected his brother to solve the problem tacitly and proficiently.

“Remember _our friend_ Djem who you failed to poison properly?” Cesare seethed, his voice lowered. “And now you share our secrets with our enemies as if they were sweetmeats!”

When Cesare had arrived at home this morning all he wanted was a bath and changing into his Cardinal robe before hurrying off to the Vatican again. But Juan had ambushed him with more than a medium-sized dilemma.

“She was with me that night...” Juan’s voice trailed off because their mother entered the courtyard.

Apparently she came from feeding the pigeons. An empty bowl in her hand, she sat down between them. So much for talking openly.

“A special lady?” she asked, delighted. “Who is she?”

“Felice Della Rovere,” Cesare answered dryly for his brother.

Vanozza coughed as if she had choked on something. When she recovered, she was short of breath and her eyes watered. “Giuliano’s daughter?”

“The very same,” Cesare was tantalizing Juan. “But don’t worry, mother, it’s a courtly love: chaste, in knight’s armour and full of minnesong. At heart, everything my dear brother is known and praised for by Rome’s noblewomen and beyond.”

Keeping things in perspective, Cesare knew the deal his brother had made was not completely unreasonable or the most expensive thing to buy someone’s silence. Still he was incredibly annoyed because the logistics of this undertaking proved inconvenient.

“Truly, I say to you, what my brother’s pastoral rod did to just one unrivalled lamb, I offered to all carnally dispirited and needy, for there were many,” Juan drawled in a syrupy voice. “But overnight, it seems, all my concerns now lie with the fair lady’s satisfaction. So I swore on my brother’s chastity and charity that I shall deliver this letter and bring her news from her beloved mother.”

Cesare rolled his eyes, and muttered under his breath, “Good grief, we are all doomed!”

“But such a gallant gesture!” Vanozza seemed pleased with Juan but also astonished, “Would anyone take issue with this?”

“I’ve been told it is in strict adherence to father’s instruction,” Cesare reported cynically. “What’s more, Travestere is a pig wallow full of seedy thugs from ancient Roman families who would be overjoyed to slaughter a Spaniard in broad daylight. Again, I’ve been told.”

Juan let out something that could be interpreted as a heartbreaking groan. Fed up with his antics, Cesare shook his head. Hopefully his mother wasn’t as fascinated by ‘le roman de la rose’ as his sister. Star-crossed young lovers and all. But then Cesare knew he had thrown his brother the bait and now they had to suffer through his third-rate thespian performance. In his mind, Cesare was drawn between crude curses and honest repentance.

“So what would we do?” Vanozza asked matter-of-factly.

Cesare shrugged. Juan looked tortured until sudden inspiration seemed to hit him, “Would you go, mother? Cesare’s manservant could accompany you for protection!”

“God deliver us from your ideas, brother!” Cesare snorted.

Vanozza looked at Juan, tenderly cupping his cheek in the palm of her hand, “I shall carry out this errand. But tell me, Juan, are you in love?”

“She is hardly tolerable, mother,” Juan explained, uncomfortable. “She has her hilarious moments though.” He looked on the floor and pursed his lips. This was not part of his brother's acting, Cesare realised aghast at this talk. As if to annoy him even further, Juan continued truthfully, “And she did Cesare a favour, did she not, dear brother?”

Cesare glared at him. Their mother would surely ask about this later.

“Regardless, Juan made a promise to a lady.” Albeit annoyed, Cesare came back to the task at hand. “And for once he shall keep it.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, mother. I will send for Micheletto.”

***

The poor and vulgar in the taverns demanded little more of a poet than to be saucy and suggestive in his writings. Bit by bit gossip and idle chatter in the streets of Rome began to revolve around the Pope and his brood. The smutty jokes that were whispered were salted with malice, as all rumours were, but with truth as well.

Even so it came as a shock when, later that day on his way to the Vatican, Cesare encountered Maffeo Gherardo. As usual – even at the least favourable times – the senile Venetian Cardinal was asking for confectionaries. There wasn’t much that amused Cesare since his father had forced him to take the crimson cassock, but for some reason the guileless old man did.

“Three bits of marzipan for your Eminence!” Cesare offered unfolding a piece of cloth.

“Bless you, my son, you always indulge my sweet tooth,” the Cardinal beamed with genuine appreciation, his wizened fingers reaching for the sweets. “These abominable lampoons disparaging especially you and your lovely sister,” he shook his head, a sad expression on his face. “My manservant brought one home last night and I immediately submitted it to His Holiness but he barely read it and laughed it to scorn.”

Beads of perspiration forming on his forehead, the old man appeared truly distraught. Cesare’s mind was racing. Nothing in Rome was as old as yesterday’s gossip. But to be printed on paper and disseminated amongst the commoners, it had to be something really spiteful and juicy. Hastily, he bid Gherardo goodbye.

Cesare found his father in his quarters, discussing military strategy with Juan. As if this would lead to anything. Cesare rolled his eyes.

“So I hear there are defamatory pamphlets circulating in Rome’s taverns,” he interrupted whatever futile game plan they were discussing.

His father glared at the interruption while Juan grinned, “The verse is quite unrefined but the lewd details made up for it. I’m sure you are most interested in the part where we got rid of Sforza so we all could enjoy Lucrezia ourselves.”

Upset by this slander, Cesare narrowed his eyes. “What will we do about it, father?”

It appeared incredible that he should not seek to avenge this despicable insult. And yet, his father chose to display a dangerous degree of sangfroid.

“Grace is not a vice of the little people,” the Pope lectured him dismissively. “This shall be Our reign. There is nothing else – just us, the dynasty of the Borgia and the jealous masses out there in the dark. We cannot be bothered with this… dirt. You must trust that God is with us, my son!”

“Oh must I?” Cesare remarked snidely. “Since you first placed this collar around my neck, father, I learnt that like morality, God only exists in the minds of simple folk.”

Just now in the midst of this new outburst of rage, Cesare realised bitterly, that as always his father had called the shots on him, and that was that. Suddenly the room was too small and he felt like he was suffocating. _Air_ , he needed air.

“We will not suffer this blasphemy inside these holy walls, Cesare! Do you understand?” The Pope yelled after him, but Cesare had already turned his back on his father, and escaped at a smart pace.

Finally outside, he leaned against a wall and closed his eyes. The urge to inflict violence was overwhelming.

“Well, well. You are clearly not of a temper as long-suffering as our father!” he heard Juan’s sneering voice next to him.

Cesare gnashed his teeth, “Haven’t we endured enough and more libels and ridicule already? Are we to be cast off the laughing matter of Rome? Especially Lucrezia,” Cesare worked himself up in a murderous frenzy. “I cannot endure having her beauty, her youth reduced to tavern slop.”

“Our sweet sister, so winsome, so willing! Drop the emotionalism, brother. It’s pathetic!” Juan scoffed. “Just because you took her on an altar next to a Madonna figure, doesn’t make your incestuous consummation holy.”

Cesare was ready to draw his knife, when Juan conceded to allay his brother’s wrath.

“You might want to save your bloodlust, Cardinal!” Juan grinned. “See, Giovanni Sforza gave Mancioni 500 ducats if he composed these gifted verses and went through Rome spreading their infamies.”

A devout regret sparked in Cesare. They should have drowned that coward Sforza as soon as they had tied up the bag. With that opportunity missed, there was only one thing to do: Deprive this would-be poet of enjoying the privilege of fools. Roughly, Cesare grabbed his brother’s upper arm.

“You, my dear brother, haven’t exceedingly exhausted yourself in our sister’s defence,” he remarked harshly dragging Juan along. “Maybe it is time we resume your lessons then!”

Stumbling after him, his brother fought shy of the implication. “So we are killing people for telling the truth now?”

Cesare frowned, “Well, they don’t know with certainty that it is the truth and yet they divulge possible falsehood. That would make them liars, don’t you think, brother?”

“I find your rational quite disturbing,” Juan swallowed hard.

Eventually he kept up with Cesare as they elbowed their way through the crowds on Rome’s most decrepit alleys. In the end they stood in front of Mancioni’s house that was in a ruinous state. One could clearly see why he would need those 500 ducats. All of a sudden dangerously calm, Cesare studied his brother closely.

“You, dear brother, will restrain that foul-mouthed scribbler as I shall cut out his tongue and chop off his right hand,” Cesare explained the plan without a tremor. “So he would neither speak nor write an ungallant word again.”

“Is this a task for a cleric?” Juan felt a surge of nausea. “But then given the colour of your robe, the blood on it will hardly attract attention.”

Cesare shot his brother a look of cold fury. Merely to appease him, Juan kicked in the unsound door.

With silent approval, Cesare drew his knife and nodded sternly, “Well then, shall we…”

***

It was a parching wind that bore the odour of burnt sugar over the Piazza di Merlo in the heat of the afternoon. Nobody appreciated the irony of meeting both of her immediate replacements on the same day like Vanozza. This one here was harder to bear though.

“I am glad, you would receive me!” Giulia Farnese said relieved as she sipped on sweetened lemon juice.

Vanozza smiled noncommittally. “Why? Did you forget your wallet?”

All those half-furtive efforts to observe the other woman out of the corner of her eye, to understand her appeal, and now Giulia Farnese, unhoped-for, came to her house, sat in her courtyard. It wasn’t so much the other woman’s beauty as her unapologetic expediency that aroused Vanozza’s jealousy.

With well-feigned humility, Giulia glossed over Vanozza’s hint at the Farnese’s financial straits and the implication that Giulia had already stolen enough from her.

“I should like to request your aid in another matter. A delicate one at that,” she replied, sorrowful.

Albeit her playing coy annoyed Vanozza infinitely, she was still curious what made Giulia look for an ally in her of all people.

While keeping a straight face, the sarcasm in Vanozza’s words was still seeping through, “Don’t get too conservative all of a sudden, would you? There should be a scandal.”

“A scandal indeed,” Giulia admitted reluctantly, as if she was to burn her tongue on nettle garlands. “I tie words but they amount to nothing. You must excuse my bluntness but Cesare drove Lucrezia to an act of transgression, a sin so grave only God may forgive. Thus I beg of you to find the ideal words I have not spoken and end this wicked deed for Lucrezia refuses to find fault in the affair.”

Quite indifferent to the news Vanozza smiled, perhaps because she found it unsurprising that her children, influenced by Rodrigo’s carnality, followed his example according to their nature. Of course as their mother she would defend them regardless of their unbecoming conduct. But there was also a submission about the way Giulia told her that made Vanozza feel strangely sadistic.

“I understand. Agreeing, however, is something else.” Vanozza, with never a change in her friendly expression, drove the knife home, “Children will do what children will do.”

In disbelief of her acquiescence, Giulia winced, “You condone this entanglement?”

“It’s beyond my control,” Vanozza pretended to be apologetic.

Now Giulia was clearly alone with visions of revolt. “At certain times,” she replied, unwilling to admit defeat, “I would have the Holy Father’s ear.”

Vanozza was genuinely astonished. Did this woman not know that all the Borgias were compulsive sinners, from the Pontiff down to the most insignificant Catalan cousins?

“My daughter said, you regard me as weak,” Vanozza remarked tartly. “So you may take this as a token of my weakness that I shall not let you tie the noose to hang yourself. Beneath his impressive bearing, Rodrigo is volatile in his decisions and truly impatient of being confronted with any troubles regarding his children.”

Her throat suddenly sore and dry, Giulia swallowed feebly, “So you are saying…”

As she completed Giulia’s sentence, Vanozza smiled generously but with cruel joy, “It would be most unwise to accost him with this.”

***

The news spread like fire in the streets of Rome. The libeller’s hand with the tongue attached to its little finger was hung in sight of all and as a warning from a window of the Church of Holy Cross.

Della Rovere grimaced with disgust. “Our liaison, Your Holiness, could be of good repute, would the Cardinal Borgia’s priestly robes be less soaked with blood.”

“Why, Cesare is a good-natured boy,” the Pope dismissed his disquiet with a firm hand, unsurprisingly forbearing with his son. “He just has not learnt to bear insult yet.”

Surely, this had to be the understatement of the century. Exasperated, Della Rovere shook his head but remained silent.

“But We would hate to see you unhappy after all your preeminent advice and your support of Our brilliant plans, Cardinal,” the Pope clapped his hands. “So before you defect to France again, We judged it prudent to send you to the French court Ourselves. But of course we would first need to strengthen our liaison as you called it so eloquently.”

After revealing what he unquestionably deemed a noble gesture, Borgia looked like the cat that ate the canary. Without doubt he knew that escaping this hothouse of sin, removing his refined figure from the shameless halls of the Vatican was incredibly tempting to Della Rovere.

“I’m sure Your Holiness will impose conditions on such a generous offer?” the Cardinal narrowed his eyes, alert and mistrustful.

“Marriage is a blessing which brings families closer together, is it not?” Borgia argued thoughtfully.

Della Rovere paled, in fact he felt close to vomiting over his mink fur collar.

“Certainly, Your Holiness would not suggest that…” his voice trailed off, appalled.

As distant as he was to his daughter, he would not sell her to the bastard son of a Spanish ape. Not even for Avignon’s Papal Palace.

“Good gracious!” Borgia feigned shock revelling in Della Rovere’s horror. “Maybe we shouldn’t get our children mixed up in this too directly. We have a niece, Angela, and you must surely have a nephew…”

***

Her hopes had waned but very slowly, as slowly as life itself. When Giulia had stepped out of the dust this afternoon, inclined to ignore the advice given to her, she found herself outwitted by Vanozza Cattanei.

“You are so clever, Giulia Farnese!” The Pope had taken her hands and looked at her in awe. “It required such delicate acumen to finally void these bitter feelings. Vanozza spoke with such appreciation about your visit and she would value your friendship highly. This new domestic understanding fills me with such comfort at this critical juncture in Our political affairs.”

So Vanozza had got to him first, and with what an imaginative spin on this afternoon’s events indeed. Nothing more to do than bow her head respectfully, accepting an unmerited compliment, Giulia had left him to attend to matters of state. Acknowledging Vanozza’s adept move made Giulia realise that diplomacy was without doubt merely a continuation of war by other means.

Once back at the Orsini palace, Giulia had been staring from the window down into the streets for a good while. The sky darkened early this evening, the promising smell of eagerly awaited rain pervaded the air. In the parlour Sancia of Naples lounged on the _cassapanca_. Beads of perspiration glistening on the olive skin revealed by her plunging neckline, she fanned herself with the infamous leaflet that by now had found its way into the _palazzi_ of the noble. Della Rovere’s daughter, prideful and judgemental as ever, sat up straight in one of the _dantesca_ chairs. Meanwhile Lucrezia anaemically sank into another one. Nothing seemed further from anyone’s mind than needlework.

“Lucrezia Borgia, the greatest whore there ever was in Rome,“ Sancia recited the gossip with relish. “How were such accolades bestowed on you, I speculate, dear sister? You must indeed be artful in your affairs for – the unfortunate stable boy aside – I never suspected you would engage in promiscuous escapades.”

As Lucrezia had returned from prayer, she had appeared light-hearted, pleased even. Giulia imagined she had thanked God for this blasphemous amour she had found. Now her face ashen, Lucrezia asked Sancia to hand her the pamphlet, careful not to stain the paper with tears as she struggled to regain her poise.

“It must be, as the Lord Sforza said, the accident of my Borgia blood,” Lucrezia replied with a rueful smile. “And yet these untruths offend me.”

Granted, not all allegations of the libel were true, yet Giulia, in this instance, deemed loving but strict schooling most wholesome, “Perhaps, my love, this is the time to raise your reputation by showing all of Rome your modest piety and inner grace of personality.”

Lucrezia neither agreed nor disagreed. Suddenly she appeared frail and meek.

“How droll this advice coming from you, Donna Giulia. When my brother Alfonso writes to me, he calls you the Bride of Christ,” Sancia gave a silvery laugh. “He does so he says because he’d not offend my ears by calling you the Pope’s whore.”

“Surely, a lady of easy virtue such as yourself must be sheltered from such obscenities,” Giulia managed a tolerative smile.“ And word has it the King of Naples is ill-famed for his peculiar sense of humour.”

Meanwhile, Lucrezia’s reddened face got damp with sweat, and her look withdrew into the distance. Turning away from Sancia, Giulia remembered how she had found Lucrezia ill in Pesaro and had taken care of her. Their sisterly bond was broken now however well her intentions might have been, and Giulia started to regret her intransigence.

“Perhaps it is unwise to upset the lady thus?” Felice commented testily, undoubtedly judging their silly dispute.

“Marsh fever,” Lucrezia’s eyes glazed over as she held on tight to the gold crucifix gemmed with rubies around her neck. “I fear my Moor would be in my dreams again. Mute and forlorn as I shall be in the end.”

Her body distressed by febrile shivers, Lucrezia had to feel faint. Given the ostracism descending upon her, life would remain no more than glittering shards from a world of tears and dreams. That Giulia knew.

Due to their current discord, she came to a bitter conclusion, “Lucrezia, we will call for the carriage. For I am sure at home your mother shall nurse you back to good health.”

 

***

At last under a corrosive wind, the moon was rising. After this last ludicrous duty, night would fall and he could shed this religious persona his father had forced upon him and be with Lucrezia. Despite Juan arguing the converse, Cesare insisted on delivering the letter himself. His brother was always up to no good, something better not to be encouraged.

When he arrived at the parlour of the Orsini palace, he was greeted by the most improbable sewing circle. His sister, however, was not among them.

“The malicious gossip proved too much for Lucrezia’s tender disposition. She left for your mother’s house an hour ago,” Giulia Farnese informed him, a subtle barb in her voice.

“I am certainly anguished by my beloved sister’s strained nerves,” Cesare hid his worries for Lucrezia’s sickly condition under a mock mask of politeness. “I shall attend to her immediately once I have served my priestly duties. Donna Felice, I understand, asked for a confessor?”

Hopefully she would understand the implication as he could hardly drop the letter in her lap for everyone to see.

“I am much obliged your Eminence would hear my admission of sin,” she answered demurely as she got up and followed him into the hallway. Finally they reached her chambers. “Your presence here tells me your dear brother must have exhausted himself with bacchanalia?”

“Indeed I thought it best not to lead him into more carnal temptations, my lady!” Cesare remarked dryly.

Her eyes narrowed, she scrutinised him. “You must think little of my morals, or a lot of your brother’s charms.”

“Your morals were never in question,” he replied sitting down on her bed. “Indulge my curiosity though, why would you suffer his follies?”

As she sat down next to him, Della Rovere’s daughter smiled, “Well, unlike Donna Giulia who possesses merely one of these traits, your brother walks the fine line between insufferable and amusing.”

Cesare snorted with laughter. “I suppose I can appreciate that.”

Out of the folds of his robe, he finally pulled the letter he came to deliver. She didn’t take it from his hands though as he had expected. Instead she eyed him with suspicion.

“You wanted a confession,” she reckoned factually. “As your accomplice, how long until you poison me? Or shall I look out for the garrote?”

It seemed unnecessary to proclaim his innocence. “Your father will be the papal legate in Avignon which makes you my father’s insurance of the Cardinal’s good behaviour,” he paused and handed her the letter. “If you indeed wish to confess, I shall visit you another time.”

Her brows rose. “You seem to despise your post,” she was blunt. “Tell me, what are your thoughts on the Church, Cardinal?”

Surprised by her question, Cesare took a moment before he answered thoughtfully, “For it is led by men, the sole purpose of the Church is to drag a ruined past through a bitter present into a hopeful future, and ruining it altogether.”

“Ah! And how about your faith, Eminence?” she asked easily.

Cesare laughed, “When I took my vows there hadn’t been quite as much inquisition.” But it appeared she was actually waiting for an answer. For a moment he deliberated on the question. “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”

“You understand why I cannot confess to you,” she remarked, apparently as unconvinced of his love for God, as he was himself.

He could not blame her. His faith had always been in Lucrezia.

“And you understand why we cannot have you confess to anyone but me,” Cesare replied politely.

“So,” she said, acknowledging the impasse they had reached. “My father is leaving for France, you say?”

Finally he thought he had good news for her. “As he thinks your current company inadequate, his Eminence has arranged for his sister Luchina to visit you weekly.”

“Oh, the punishment!” she laughed sardonically. “My aunt or Piombino. Which should be worse, I wonder?”

“The latter,” Cesare smiled, slightly amused. “Nothing to do there but swimming to Elba.”

***

After weeks of heat, the drought eased only by dew, the rain came rushing down that night. Cesare hurried through the cloudburst. Leaping over puddles and rivulets, he was soaked and breathless when he finally reached his mother’s house.

“The allegations of her sensual nature overwhelm her,” his mother said quietly, when she welcomed him with a kiss on the cheek. “As always the illness is less in her body than in her heart.”

“I beg you not to worry about it, mother. I traced the rumour to its source.”

“So I’ve heard,” she said, looking her son over with worry. “What has this papacy done to us?” There was no good answer to that. “You should get dry, put on another robe, Cesare.”

“Is she asleep already?” Cesare condemned himself, disappointed by his failure to shield her from being dragged through the mire or to at least reunite with her sooner.

“No. Perhaps, I think you must stay with her for the night and ease her heartache,” his mother replied cryptically.

Slightly confused by the meaning of her words, Cesare did as his mother told him. Dry after all, he carelessly threw his black soutane over his shift, not bothering to button it up. And so he hurried to Lucrezia’s chambers. Battered by sudden fever, she blinked her eyes at him that were burning from exhaustion.

“Cesare,” she whispered as he lay down next to her on the bed and cradled her in his arms. Her whole body felt hot, yet she was shaking like a leaf. “Is it true, Cesare?”

“Is what true, my love?” he softly kissed her hairline that was damp with perspiration.

“That I’m a whore,” she replied meekly. “And that you, as I have heard it whispered by the maid servants, deem murder a pleasure.”

Yesterday Lucrezia had thrived on risk-taking. Today she seemed broken by her fearlessness.

“I think you know, my love, that these defamations stem from the Lord Sforza. As revenge for the humiliation he suffered,” he reassured her emphatically. “You are still Lucrezia Borgia. Kind, devout and effortlessly graceful.”

The soothing rush of the rain sounded like the soughing of stone pines on the Piazza di Merlo. Lucrezia leaned on him more, her weight on his chest ridding him of the heavy despair he had felt only a moment ago. Maybe he could right all his wrongs.

“Our hands have blood on them. Are we cruel, Cesare?” she asked, numb.

“Perhaps,” he could not lie to her. “Evil walks on every side, Lucrezia. The cords of failure, disgrace and death entangle our family. So if it is cruel to avert such a fate, to destroy those who want us harm, then indeed we are endued with cruelty.”

“Thus we shall be cruel and obey thankless tasks assigned by love,” she understood. “No longer will I listen to lies spread by those who live in ignorance then.”

She closed her eyes and next to her even breath, he heard only the roar of the deluge, and hidden deep within his chest he thought he felt the beating of her heart.

“You are very wise, my love!” he finally replied, comforted, glad even because she had unburdened his mind.

The pallor in her face yielded to a healthier colour. But there was still a hint of melancholy that did not leave. Still Cesare abandoned himself to the desire that his sister would now open her arms to him as readily as she had confided her worries. He lowered his face onto hers, brushed his thumb over her burning lips and kissed her hard. Mouthing his name through their impassioned moaning, her arms indeed clasped him to her in fear that they would be separated. After a while, her skin tasted salty and he felt tears running down her cheeks. Breaking their embrace, he looked at her.

“When will this end? When father demands I marry again?” Lucrezia asked miserably.

Thus far, he had hidden his low spirits. But she had stolen all his senses. There was a stabbing pain in his chest. Again he couldn’t find comfort in a lie.

“Yes,” Cesare admitted, bitter and defeated.

Suddenly a great, terrified silence reigned. Seemingly lost in thought, Lucrezia played with the strings of his shift then bit down on her lower lip. When she looked at him again, Cesare took in his sister’s broken smile still so full of love for him. He wanted to console her so desperately but in the end it was as it had always been. It was Lucrezia who soothed his heart, hiding the foretaste of still unwept tears that burnt like fire on both of their tongues. Outside the lashing rain attempted to drown the Eternal City. As if to banish all fear and bitterness, Lucrezia stroked Cesare’s face affectionately, moistened his dry lips with her fervid tongue and kissed his closed eyelids.

“Well,” she whispered a promise raising divine expectations. “We shall make the best of it then.”

 

**~Fin~**


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